


let me be with you tonight

by glowinghorizons



Series: you're in my heart [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 02:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7462254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/glowinghorizons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set in season one. five times clarke is the worst patient in the world, ft. a “i’m really trying to be patient here” bellamy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me be with you tonight

**Author's Note:**

> another s1 fic. you don’t need to have the other fic in this series for this one to make sense, but i’m not going to stop you if you do!

_i._

The flap to the dropship flies open as Bellamy Blake storms inside, causing everyone in his way to quickly take two steps back. “Where is she?” He demands, turning to Miller, his unofficial second, who is looking anywhere but at Bellamy. When he doesn’t get an answer, Bellamy glares, putting his hands on his hips. “Miller.”

“First of all, she said she was _fine_ \--”

Bellamy snorts. “Of course she said that, she’s literally the worst patient known to man.”

Miller bites back a grin, but still looks a little sheepish. “She’s in her tent. I think she said she was going to patch herself up.” 

Bellamy nods in thanks and then leaves the dropship, ignoring the kids who are still looking at him warily. He heads towards the corner of camp where Clarke’s tent is, and sighs when he hears muffled curses coming from inside. 

“Clarke?” The noises immediately stop following his voice, and he pushes open the flap before walking inside. “ _Clarke_.” He says again, his voice taking on a worried edge as he sees the open gash on her left forearm. 

“I’m fine,” she says, her tone defensive right away. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Just a scratch.” Bellamy repeats, incredulous. “You’re bleeding everywhere. Why didn’t you let Miller stitch this for you?”

“He’s terrible with a needle.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, coming over to take a seat next to her. “Let me look at that.”

“Bellamy--”

Bellamy shushes her, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards him. The cut doesn’t look too bad, really, but she _is_ bleeding, and he never takes the sight of her injured very well. “Can you sit down for one second?” He asks, exasperated. 

She sits down next to him and he can’t help it, he laughs, because she’s _pouting_ and he’s never seen her look quite like this before. “What’s going on, Princess?” 

“Nothing’s _going on_ ,” she says, using air quotes. 

“You’re cranky.” He tells her, reaching over her for her medkit, pulling out some disinfectant and a small bandage. He gets to work, beginning to gently clean out the gash on her arm, frowning when he sees her bite her lip hard enough to make it go white. 

“I’m annoyed that I hurt myself, okay?”

Bellamy snorts. “Well, that makes two of us. And don’t think I didn’t know that you were trying to hide this from me.”

Clarke doesn’t say anything, so he doesn’t either, just begins sterilizing a needle so he can start to stitch up her wound. It goes fairly quickly - he would be smug about being able to stitch really well if he weren’t doing it on another person. After he’s done, he adds some more moonshine onto her stitches to be safe, and then applies a bandage over top. 

“You weren’t supposed to be out with the hunting party,” he says. He doesn’t mean for it to come out scolding, but it does, and he immediately regrets it when he sees a spark enter her eyes, one that says she’s itching for a fight.

“It’s a good thing I went with them, otherwise Finn would have walked right into a Grounder trap--”

“Finn should watch where he’s going.” Bellamy says, and he knows, he _knows_ that he sounds grumpy and stupid and _jealous_. 

Clarke stills his hand, smiling softly. “Bellamy.” She laces their fingers together, and he’s still getting used to this - still getting used to the way that she touches him so reverently, the way that she tells him _you’re worth it_. “I needed to be with the hunting party so I could stock up on some more herbs. They were only out for an hour.”

“And it only took you an hour to get hurt,” he argues. She opens her mouth to argue with him, but he holds up his hand, already shaking his head. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. know you can take care of yourself. I just-- I should have been out there with you.”

Clarke’s entire face softens as she looks at him. “Bellamy, you can’t take care of everyone all the time. Not even me.”

He frowns. “I can try.”

Clarke leans in to kiss him and he can’t help but meet her halfway. Her eyes flutter shut and so do his, and before long there’s nothing else he can sense or feel but _Clarke_. He’s still having a hard time wrapping his brain around the fact that Clarke chooses to spend her days and her nights with him, that she trusts him to take care of her and their people -- it’s all too much for him sometimes. He’s always been the one to take care of everyone else and he’s not sure how to let her take care of him, sometimes. 

When they break apart, he leans his forehead against hers, sighing softly. “Promise me you’ll be more careful.” 

“Only if you promise you won’t freak out every time I need stitches.” 

That muscle in his jaw ticks, but he nods, agreeing. “Come on, I need to brief Miller and you need to get some food.” He leans forward and presses a swift kiss to her forehead before he stands, offering her his hand. She takes it, and he pulls her up, lacing their fingers together once more.

_ii._

It’s dinner time at the dropship, and everyone is crowding around what’s become a big communal serving table. Bellamy stands off to the side with Clarke, eyeing the kids warily to make sure the younger kids don’t get their portions stolen from them. 

Clarke coughs into her elbow next to him, and it’s violent sounding enough that Bellamy turns to her, raising an eyebrow. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

He chuckles. “I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“You are. I told you, I feel fine.”

“I’ve heard that a time or two,” he teases, slinging his arm around her shoulders. Clarke tenses under his arm, and he follows her eyes to where Finn and Jasper are standing, the former glancing at Clarke every chance he gets. Bellamy sighs. “I wish he’d stop trying to make you feel so guilty all the time.” He tells Clarke quietly. 

“He’s not trying to--”

“Yes he is.” 

Clarke coughs again, practically pushing Bellamy away from her so she doesn’t cough on him. “I’m not that hungry. I’m going to go clean the medbay for tomorrow.”

“Clarke--” Bellamy calls after her, but she’s already gone, her blonde braid swinging behind her as she goes. Bellamy’s eyes shut and he takes a breath in frustration. When he opens his eyes, Finn is following after her, and Bellamy doesn’t have the energy to try to stop him. 

He’s tired of competing.

~

An hour or so later, Jasper comes to find him by the perimeter of camp, his eyes a little wild. Bellamy is immediately on edge. 

“You need to come to the dropship.” 

“Why?” Bellamy’s voice is low, dangerous.

“Clarke’s sick.” 

“God _dammit_ ,” Bellamy breathes, taking off at a fast walk towards the ramp to the dropship, Jasper hot on his heels. When he gets inside, he sees Clarke leaning heavily on the exam table, Finn in front of her trying to get her to open her eyes.

“Clarke, come on--” Finn is saying, his voice gentle. He’s clearly trying to help, so for once, Bellamy doesn’t want to punch him.

“No.” Clarke says, sounding petulant. “M’fine.”

“You should lay down.” Finn tries again, trying to get Clarke to move away by tugging on her hand. She snatches it back, and Bellamy suppresses a laugh.

“Don’t…” Clarke protests feebly. “Where’s Bellamy?”

“He’s not--” Finn starts, looking impatient.

“I’m here, Clarke.” Bellamy calls out, making his presence known. He doesn’t have time to feel satisfied at the look on Finn’s face before Clarke nearly takes a face dive towards the floor. Bellamy moves quickly, catching her before she falls, and this time he does allow himself to feel a little smug at the way Clarke immediately latches onto him, instead of shoving him away like she did Finn. “Steady, there.” 

“Don’t feel good,” she mutters, and Bellamy rolls his eyes, fond.

“No kidding. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He lifts her off her feet swiftly, and pauses before he gets to the door. Turning to Finn, “You should have come to get me as soon as she didn’t feel well.”

“I had it handled.”

Bellamy glares. “It’s not your _job_ to have it handled.” He takes a deep breath, trying to control his temper. “Look, whatever. Clarke still thinks of you as a friend, for some reason that I can’t understand. That’s her choice. If she wants me, you better believe I’m going to be there. I’m not just going to go away. Not until she tells me to. So get used to it.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just continues out the door of the dropship with Clarke in his arms, and heads straight for his tent. Clarke has her own, for times when they both need a break and to be alone for a little bit. She stays with him sometimes, and he with her, but right now he doesn’t trust her to take care of herself well enough to leave her on her own.

“Bell’my?”

“I’m right here, Clarke.” He says quietly, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Her forehead is hot. He frowns. “Have you eaten today?”

“Breakfast.” 

“Clarke--” he starts angrily, but she swats at him.

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

He blinks. “Wow. You must really be sick if you’re apologizing.” 

Clarke laughs. It sounds pathetic and small, but it’s still a laugh, so he counts that as a victory. 

“Come on, let’s get you tucked in.” Under their treaty with the Grounders, The 100 have gotten some furs and blankets to help them get through the winter. Bellamy grabs one of his favorites - a fur that’s so soft he swears it’s not from any animal he’s ever heard of. 

Once the furs are tucked tight around her, he leans in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Promise you’re going to start taking better care of yourself.” 

Clarke looks up at him blearily, but still somehow manages to look stubborn. “I promise.” 

He shakes his head, amused. “Why don’t I believe you?” 

“I don’t know. Sounds like a personal problem, Bell.” She says, before closing her eyes and nuzzling further into his pillow. 

For a heartstopping moment, those three words are right there on the tip of his tongue. _Right there_. He could say them right now, when she probably wouldn’t remember them tomorrow. The urge to blurt them out is so strong it sort of scares him, so he pushes them down, keeps them inside. 

_Maybe tomorrow_.

_iii._

Bellamy trudges back into camp from a hunting mission, his shirt sticking to him on this unseasonably warm day. Winter is almost over, and the sun gets warmer and warmer each day. He’s relieved, on one hand, but on the other, allergy season is starting, and he’s waiting for the day he wakes up and can’t breathe out of his nose. 

“Take these to Monroe.” He tells Miller, motioning at the few deer and rabbits they’ve managed to catch. After unloading his pack, all he wants to do is go to his tent and sleep for about twelve hours, but it’s a pleasant surprise when he gets there to see Clarke already there, curled up on his bed.

Smiling to himself, he shrugs off his jacket and toes off his boots. Lowering himself down next to him, he doesn’t really notice something is wrong until he realizes Clarke is staying as far on her side of the bed as she possibly can without touching him. “Princess?” He asks, pushing himself up on one elbow to get a better look at her. “Clarke?” He takes in the way her arms are clamped tight around her stomach, and the way her eyes are screwed shut. 

“Bell?” She asks drowsily, waking up. Rolling over to face him, she smiles, but it’s a tight smile. “How was the trip?” She scoots closer, her head coming to rest on the juncture where his shoulder meets his neck. He has to smile at that -- another thing he’s still trying to get used to -- but gets concerned again when he sees her wincing. 

“It was fine. Caught some food. How are you doing?”

“Okay. I’m-- my stomach hurts a little. It’s been slow around here today, so I thought I’d get a nap in while I still could.”

His arms wrap around her gently, tugging her closer so he can rub at her back - she’s tense, like she’s trying to hold herself together. “Something you ate?” He asks, trying to be as discreet as possible. They’re close, sure, but she still shies away from some topics.

“I don’t know. I would guess--” she cuts herself off, blushing. “Never mind.”

“Clarke.” He tilts her chin up. “Do I need to remind you who raised Octavia? And who had to help her out when she turned thirteen and we couldn’t take her to see your Mom?”

Clarke blushes even more. “Right.” 

He smiles, kissing her temple. “Do you need anything?” 

She shakes her head. “No. I actually was prepared for this, if you can believe it.” That spark is back in her eyes, the one that appears when she teases him, and even when she makes fun of herself.

“You don’t say.” He grins at her. 

“We didn’t have any supplies for this, but I asked Nyko about it the last time we visited his village. I think we’re stocked up for the girls who need it. I guess I just didn’t think about the… the other side effects.” She smiles sheepishly at him. 

He leans in, unable to help himself from kissing the blush off her face. She sighs when their lips meet, and he does too, because he feels like they haven’t been together like this in forever. There’s always a near-crisis going on, or some problem that needs to be solved, and they never get a moment to themselves. He groans when she pulls herself closer, one hand sliding into his hair as the other grips at the front of his t-shirt. 

“Clarke,” he says roughly, pulling away. “Clarke, wait.” 

“No,” she whines, and he chuckles. 

“You should get some rest.” He argues, but goes against his own point when he tugs her hair gently, exposing her throat so he can press his lips there, just against her pulse point. 

“Don’t want to.” She mumbles. 

“You’ll feel better.” 

“You’re not helping!” She snaps, frowning at him. She softens her harsh tone by kissing him, her nails scraping against his scalp lightly. “You’re just-- so… you’re so--”

“There’s so many adjectives, I know.” Bellamy replies cheekily, ducking away from her hand as she tries to hit him. “Go to sleep.” He says after a beat, smoothing her hair. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“Fine. But I’m sleeping because I’m tired, not because you’re telling me to.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

He watches her get comfortable in his bed, her hair spread out like a blonde sunburst on his pillow, and those words are there again, right on the tip of his tongue, begging to be spoken. He doesn’t know if he has the willpower to keep them in, but he doesn’t want to send her running.

Life on the ground is good right now. Things with Clarke are more than he ever expected. He doesn’t know what he would do if he lost her, or made her pull away from him.

“Sleep well, princess.” He whispers, before curling up next to her, shutting his eyes for some well-needed sleep.

_iv._

The Ark finally comes down in the middle of summer, a year after the delinquent first came to the ground. 

It’s chaos. 

Bellamy doesn’t know what to do with himself, and he’s so agitated that nearly everyone has learned to leave him alone if they see him pacing. The Ark doesn’t come down so much as it nearly crashes, and it takes all of Bellamy and Clarke’s political sway to convince the Grounder commander not to attack the ship. 

Clarke leaves with a team that includes Harper, Octavia, Miller and Monty to help treat the wounded, and figure out what they’re going to do with the inhabitants that are essentially homeless, if the Ark sustained any lasting damage. 

Bellamy hates it.

He hates it when Clarke is gone. He hates it worse that Clarke _and_ Octavia are gone, and he hates it even worse when he imagines them coming back with members of a council that might decide they want to tell him what to do again. 

“You’re going to get gray hair if you keep it up,” Raven comments as she passes him, her arms full of firewood.

Bellamy opens his mouth to reply, but is stopped when he hears Jasper shout for the gates to be opened. He starts to grin, but the smile is wiped clean off his face when he sees Miller practically stagger through the gate, Clarke leaning heavily on him. 

Bellamy dimly registers the rest of the group and a woman he registers as Clarke’s mom, with two men he doesn’t recognize, but he only really has eyes for Clarke.

He’s there in two strides, supporting Clarke’s other side. “What the hell happened?” He barks out. 

“Grounder trap. We didn’t even see it.” Miller replies, his voice grim. “It got her leg.”

“I need a table!” Clarke’s mother says, and Bellamy meets her eyes for the first time. 

“Get her into the medbay,” Bellamy orders, grabbing a few other kids around them to hold open the flap to the dropship while they maneuver Clarke inside. 

“She passed out on the way back. Probably from the pain.” Octavia is at his side, speaking lowly into his ear. She squeezes his hand. “She’s tough, big brother. Try not to panic.”

They get Clarke into the medbay and set her down on the table. Abby Griffin is looking around seemingly in awe before she’s jolted back into action when Clarke wakes up, a pained cry escaping her mouth. 

“Clarke.” Bellamy is at her side right away, gripping her hand. “Clarke, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay, baby.” The term of endearment slips out before he can stop it, and he hears something clatter to the floor. When he looks up, Abby Griffin is staring at him like her gaze alone could melt his face off. “Are you going to help her, or what?” Bellamy barks out, his voice going hoarse. 

“Bell-- Bellamy--” Clarke is saying his name repeatedly, her hand fluttering in the air, reaching for him. 

He turns his head back towards her. “Hey, Clarke. Hey.” Bellamy runs his hand through her hair, realizing his hands are shaking. “You’re always getting into trouble, aren’t you?” 

“I have to--” she scrambles at the table, trying to pull herself up. Miller is on her other side, pushing back on her shoulder. 

“No, no. Clarke, you have to sit still. We have to get you patched up.” 

“It hurts-- it _hurts_ \--” 

Bellamy grips her hand harder, and tries not to stare at her leg. There are puncture wounds there, four round holes that he can only hope don’t go all the way to her bone. “I know, princess. I know it hurts.” He swallows hard. “We’ll fix you, okay?” 

“I need some space.” Abby’s hard voice comes from behind him. 

“No-- no, Bell, don’t--” Clarke is saying, and she sounds so panicked, so unlike anything Bellamy has ever heard from her before. It scares him more than her injury does. 

“We’re not going anywhere,” Miller says from Clarke’s other side, and Bellamy notices just then that Miller has hold of Clarke’s other hand. Bellamy suddenly feels so thankful for this little family that they’ve formed. He doesn’t know how to show it, so he settles for nodding his thanks towards his friend. 

“Fine. At least give me some room to look at her leg.” 

Bellamy stays with Clarke the entire time, keeping her steady and calm while whispering words of comfort in her ear. He stays when she passes out again due to the pain, and as Abby sets the broken bones in her leg. He stays when everyone else clears out of the room, and he stays even when Clarke wakes up panicking, not knowing where she is or what’s happened. 

“You’re okay. I’m here, you’re okay.” He whispers, pulling her close to his chest. He feels her heart rate calm down, and when she falls asleep again, he steps out of the dropship to get some air. 

“You seem close.” Abby Griffin says from where she’s sitting against the dropship, a blanket in her lap. He recognizes it as one of Octavia’s. 

“Excuse me?” 

“With Clarke. You seem close with Clarke.”

Bellamy wants to laugh. He doesn’t. 

“You could say that.”

She eyes him closely, and then heads inside to check on Clarke.

_v._

Clarke is the worst at recovery. She doesn’t listen to anything her Mom says, or anything Bellamy says, and always conveniently forgets her makeshift crutches in her tent. 

“I don’t need help,” she says to anyone who offers her anything. 

“If you don’t sit down in the next five minutes, so help me--”

“What?” Clarke whirls around, her eyes blazing. “What? What will you do, Bellamy?”

“Clarke.” He takes a step closer to her, holding on to her elbow. “Your leg won’t heal correctly if you keep walking on it.”

“It’s _fine_.” Clarke tells him through gritted teeth. 

“No. It’s not. I’m not going to let you get out of this one, Clarke.” 

“What makes you think you can tell me--”

“Because I love you, okay!” Bellamy nearly shouts. “I love you, and I don’t want to see you hurt, or worse, because you didn’t rest like you were supposed to and get hurt again, and if that means I have to drag you back to my tent--”

Clarke kisses him before he can say anything else. He doesn’t even have time to warn her that her Mom is around the corner, or that Kane is probably staring at the from wherever he’s decided to lurk from today-- he just winds his arms around her, tugging her closer, sighing against her mouth. 

“I love you too, you idiot.” She breathes against his mouth as she pulls apart.

A grin stretches across his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She echoes. 

_+1_

Three weeks later, it’s Bellamy wrapped up in blankets, his forehead sweaty and clammy as Clarke hovers over him, trying to get him to eat. 

“I don’t want it--” 

“You have to eat, Bell. You’re wasting away.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I ate this morning.”

“You ate a half of an apple. That’s how I know you’re sick. You _love_ apples.”

“I just want to sleep.” Any other time he would be embarrassed that he’s whining, but not this time. 

“You can sleep after you eat some of this soup. Please, Bell.” 

It’s her plaintive tone that does him in. He sits up with her help and manages a few spoonfuls before he grimaces. “I can’t eat anymore. It tastes like dirt.”

Clarke’s brow wrinkles. “I made that.”

_Shit_. “I’m sorry, Clarke, I just can’t _taste_ anything--”

“It’s all right. Just try to get some more sleep and drink some water, okay? I have to get out there and check on Harper.”

“Don’t let Kane near the guard rotation. He always wants to mess with it when they come on a trip here. Doesn’t he have enough to do at his own camp?”

“Okay, Bell.”

“Are you actually going to talk to him, or are you just saying that?”

“Bell, I love you, but if you don’t shut up, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Bellamy’s heart still squeezes when he hears those words out of her mouth, no matter how many times they’ve said them to each other in the days since that first time. He’s happier when they say them in non-life threatening situations, though. 

“I love you.” He says quietly, seriously.

“Go to sleep,” she urges, but presses a kiss to his lips swiftly before he can react. 

Bellamy watches her go, and falls asleep with a smile on his face.


End file.
